


Third Player

by Clara_Parlato



Series: 29% of Realities [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Assholery, Blood and Gore, Evil!Lance, Kinda?, Lance (Voltron) is a Badass, Lance is going to take the Universe as his, Lance's Harem, Langst, Mind Manipulation, Morally Ambiguous Character, Morally Grey Lance, Multi, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Psychological Torture, Rating May Change, Torture, and nobody will stop him, sequel to 29 of realities' alternate ending
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-21
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-07-15 03:26:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16054511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clara_Parlato/pseuds/Clara_Parlato
Summary: “But not for long, I assure you, Zarkon’s pet. Soon, soon this game will have another player and he’ll make damn sure you get the end you deserve.”





	1. Game Start

**Author's Note:**

> Today is my birthday and this is my birthday gift for myself! I hope you enjoy it and see ya’ll next chapter!!

“If it isn’t the witch’s new toy.”

“What do you want, Sendak?”

Sendak stared at the panting human standing in the middle of the training arena. Mere weeks after Voltron left him behind and he already had the praise of their Emperor. Sendak hated him. That boy, not even fully grown, thinking of himself so highly just because of Haggar’s experiments. The general eyed the mechanical hand the boy was so proud of. Newest technology and the witch kept updating it. Lance was staring right back, with a smirk and mocking eyes. Bluest blue glanced at the galra arm and back at his face.

“What are you trying to accomplish by training so intensely? With the weak bodies your species have, you won’t be able to go much farther.”

“Green is not your color for jealousy to be your shade, Sendak.”

Sendak growled, baring his teeth.

“What are you trying to prove, human?”

“I have nothing to prove, galra.” Lance’s smirk grew impossibly larger. “Differently from you and your obsession with proving yourself in the eyes of your emperor.”

“Our emperor.”

“Do not correct me when I’m not wrong, galra.”

Sendak immediately took action. An attack that would certainly knock that prideful human out of his pedestal… If it landed.

It didn’t.

Instead the galra found himself pinned to the floor, cheek firmly pressed against the cold ground, body immobilized. He did not know how exactly, but if the glowing hand of the ex-paladin was anything to go by, the witch’s magic had a part in it. As if reading his thoughts, the human snickered.

“You know what is you guys problem? You believe only in one type of strength. You think that once you find your type of strength, it’ll be a waste of time to learn another. You are weak, and so is your emperor.”

“You will not talk about Lord Zarkon this way!”

Sendak tried to free himself, but the jolt of pain that ran through his body was enough to frustrate his tries. Lance made sure to hit the galra’s head on the floor for good measure. Sendak had hated the human the first time they confronted each other, the stubborn fool coming out of a coma just to shoot him, but then and there, pinned against the dirty floor of a training arena, the galra could feel nothing but wrathful loathing towards him. The way the human was so smugly sitting on top of him, how the human underestimated him enough to hold him down with only one hand, how the human smiled with so much amused disdain.

How he let the human do it all. How his body answered with fear. How his soul sobbed in desperate anger.

Sendak hated that human.

Sendak wanted to tear him to pieces.

Sendak wanted to send him to hell.

Send him _back_ to Hell.

“Listen to me, Sendak, listen well.” The witch’s pet was growling each word, he truly sounded like a lion warning an annoyance. “I am not loyal to any of you, including your emperor, and the first chance I get to chuck all of you fuckers into the pits of Hell, I’ll not hesitate. Haggar is the one who I’m loyal to, and she’s the one stopping me from doing so.”

“You—!” The pressure on his head increased and he gritted his teeth.

“But not for long, I assure you, Zarkon’s pet. Soon, soon this game will have another player and he’ll make damn sure you get the end you deserve.”

Bluest blue, burning with wrath. Sendak could feel shivers running every part of his body, from his toes to the very tip of his ears. He could see it. The monster Haggar had created. The creature filled with pent up rage and a strong desire. The beast that would not stop until it got what it wanted. The galra had never felt so much fear.

“What is happening here?” Zarkon’s sudden voice alert the two of the emperor and the witch’s presence. “I came here to see Haggar’s most prized and I find my general pathetically pinned down, now that’s curious.”

Lance immediately got up, the galra finally being able to breathe properly. Sendak got up slower than the human, careful glare trained on the kneeling creature’s back, and kneeled before his emperor.

“I was training and didn’t hear Sendak come, so, by reflex, I attacked and immobilized him. My apologies, it’ll not happen again, my lord.”

Haggar cackled from her place by the emperor’s side, as if she knew what in truth happened. She probably did, Sendak hadn’t been very subtle about his distaste over the human and his position. Zarkon let out something that could be considered a chuckle.

“Do not apologize for being strong, Lance. I hope to see more of your strength in the future, hopefully not against my helpless general.”

“Yes, lord Zarkon.”

“And you, Sendak, losing for the same man twice? I expected more. Double your training, I don’t want any more failures from you.”

The galra emperor did not wait for an answer, leaving the room without as much as a second glance to his general, but he received one anyways.

“Yes, my lord.”

“My boy—” Haggar made a gesture with one hand, signaling the ex-paladin to come to her “—come with me, I have something for you.”

“Yes, mother.”

With that, the two left Sendak alone to mull over his thoughts. He had long ago stopped believing in monsters and demons, but after that, he could not deny the existence of the Devil.

* * *

The walk to the laboratory was uneventful, Lance telling Haggar what exactly conspired in the arena between him and Sendak. She softly patted his cheek when he told her that she was the one he was loyal to, thanking him with a motherly smile and filling him with warm pride.

What was waiting for him in the lab, though, was… Interesting, at the very least.

“Mother? What…?”

“This is for you, my son. The very first clone I made.”

“Shiro…?”

Lance stared at the man kneeling by Haggar’s feet. It was Shiro. Arms cuffed behind his back and a muzzle covering half of his face. Gray eyes glared his with burning wrath. Body tense, the clone looked ready to attack. Lance fully expected him to start growling. Just like a subjugated feral dog. The collar around his neck only made the comparison stronger.

“If you want it to be.”

In that moment, the clone, with a burst of sudden speed, pounced. He certainly didn’t think about his actions. Without being able to use his hands and not being agile enough to use his legs, he had no other option than throw his body onto Lance. And that was what he would’ve done, if his collar hadn’t sent a shock wave through his body.

With a muffled scream, thanks to the muzzle, he fell on the floor. Muscles twitching, he resumed the wrathful glaring.

“Sadly, it is still hostile. I was going to destroy it, but I thought you would be pleased to have it.”

“Thank you, mother.” Lance crouched down to move some of the long hair so he could see the gray eyes better. They had a yellowish tint near the pupils. “I love the gift.”

The clone’s hateful glare burned into his blue eyes.


	2. Connections

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Were you wondering about the clone?

He could still feel them. Even in the privacy of the room, getting some rest after another encounter with the galra, he could feel them. The concerned stares. They were better than the lovesick ones, but still bothersome.

They were concerned about Lance.

Not him.

Never him.

Because, as much as he was Lance…

He wasn’t.

Not really.

A clone of Lance grown from a hand.

Part of the original, but never an original.

He stared at his—Lance’s—right hand, clenching and unclenching his—Lance’s—fingers. He had wished nothing more than to leave when Voltron came to rescue Lance. He wished nothing more than to be free as soon as possible. And yet, he was prisoner once again. And yet, he was shackled to other people’s objectives.

Moreover, he was the one who shackled himself.

Because Voltron was warm and loving. Everything Haggar was only to the original Lance. Everything he wanted for himself. Everything he didn’t had.

Because it wasn’t for him. It was all for Lance.

Their love, their trust, their warmth, their loyalty. Everything for the original, not for the clone. Not for the farce. Not for him, but for him.

He wanted to resent the original. He wanted to hate Haggar. But he couldn’t. Not when they were the reason he was where he was. Instead, he felt a bitter gratefulness towards the witch, and a sour guilty about the original. Lance was left behind in the clutches of the witch, abandoned by the people he cared most. All because of the selfishness of the clone. All because of the selfishness of a creature that shared his DNA, but not his soul.

In the end, the clone hated himself. He was stealing so much from an innocent man. His face. His family. His friends. His place in the universe. He was stealing so much of a man that already had everything taken from him. In the end, he was just as vile as his creator was.

“My God, you really are me.”

He jolted on the bed, sitting and looking around. It was his voice, but it was not. It echoed slightly inside his mind and the echo almost made the clone not notice the figure in the corner of the room. Almost.

“You—! How—!”

“Jeez, calm down.”

The clone couldn’t believe his eyes. Lance, the original Lance, was standing there, looking nonchalant and even content. He gave a few confident steps, stopping near the bed.

“You’re not hallucinating.”

“How…”

“I guess you can say is… an astral projection or something.”

Bullshit. The clone bolted, bayard—that he had thrown on the bed earlier—in hands. But the original was faster—better—, quickly overpowering him. He found himself pinned against the bed with Lance on top of him. Legs each side of his hips, hands holding his wrists firmly above his head. Up close, the clone could see the slight glow in the human’s eyes, energy floating in bluest blue.

“Would you fuck a clone of yourself?” The clone blurted out, suddenly remembering a conversation he—Lance—had with Hunk a long time ago.

“You really are like me.” The boy shook his head softly, touching the clone’s forehead with his own. “And, just like me, you want to be your own individual, don’t you?”

The clone swallowed, nodding. Lance was warm, even the metal hand seemed to buzz with the warm energy. Said man smiled peacefully, voice low and comforting, as he explained his plans to his doppelganger. He explained how his training was going, and what he was able to do with his powers. Explained how their minds and souls were connected. Explained how Haggar made him stronger, how Zarkon favored him, how Sendak feared him. Explained how the game—that is how he called the war—was going and how he would change it. Explained how he could give  _him_ —the thief who took his place—the freedom to be whatever he wanted to be. Explained how he was going to give the universe the peace it so desperately chased. Ended his monologue with a request.

“Please, love them for me while I’m not able to. They are now your family too.”

“I left you behind. I stole your place in the universe. And yet, and yet you offer me freedom? You offer me forgiveness? Salvation? Why?”

“You should know better than anyone why.”

With that whisper he vanished, the comforting warmth being the only reminder of his existence. The clone laid there silently. Closing his eyes, he tried to calm is beating heart and jumbled thoughts. Lance was right; all he wanted was to be his own person. He didn’t want to steal someone’s life; he wanted to have his own. He wanted the freedom to  _be_.

He could do it. He could play the role of Voltron’s Lance, if that was what took him to find that freedom.

He just wished they didn’t love Lance as much as they did.

It would make it easier for him.

It would make him less guilty.

* * *

“You look pleased, my son, for someone who just fell asleep after a fight with Voltron.”

“My apologies, mother, but I think you’ll like to know what exactly just happened.”

Haggar analyzed her son carefully. She was aware of his feelings and thoughts. She knew he despised the emperor. She knew he could easily overthrow Zarkon—and herself—if he wished. It was one of the reasons she tried to make him change sides. However, she knew it did not work as she expected. His loyalties did not lie within the empire, he gave it all to her.

She knew she was the only thing stopping him from destroying the emperor.

And, somehow, she didn’t have the heart to stop him if he tried.

Haggar didn’t like it, the vulnerability, the weakness the boy brought to her. The need to protect and support. She could feel herself drowning in it. Her motherly love, the love she thought her heart was unable to produce. Haggar hated the love she felt for Lance—the lie she fabricated that was slowly but surely turning into a truth.

“Do tell, my boy.”

However, she just could not stop.

“Mother, I am connected to the clone you made of me; the one Voltron has with them.”

Not when he loved her back so tenderly.

“Go on, my treasure.”

The alchemist listened attentively as the boy—her boy—explained to her what exactly happened. His powers had developed at an astounding rate, in a horribly short time. He was able to do more than just play with quintessence. He could project his own and take conscious form outside his body. He could enter minds and connect energies. He could manipulate quintessence as he pleased. He was turning out to be the most powerful of her creations.

She was terrified.

“I am proud of you.”

She did not want him to do what he wanted to do.

“I am sure you’ll do great things with this power.”

She hated the creature she created.

“It’s all thanks to you, mother.”

She loved her son. So, so much.

“I only made it so you would be able to use all your potential, my treasure.”

Lance smiled softly, tilting his head forward, a silent ask for affection. Haggar brushed her nails on his cheeks before taking his face in her hands and caressing his skin lovingly—the first instinct of tearing his flesh apart vanishing to the very back of her mind. He looked at her with admiration, a satisfying sigh leaving his lungs as the woman ran one of her hands through his hair.

The moment was interrupted by the sudden blare of the alarms. Something was wrong. Lance straightened and turned around, assuring her over his shoulder that he would be back in a tick, then running in the direction of the guards.

She was relieved he was gone.

She could not wait for him to return.

The monster she created.

Her beloved son Lance.


	3. Clones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> RP BLOG: https://officialthirdplayerlance.tumblr.com/

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RP BLOG: https://officialthirdplayerlance.tumblr.com/

“You’re very ungrateful, you know? I gave you a purpose and a name, and yet you bite my hand.”

Kuro glared at him, piercing hate in his eyes, and stayed silent. Lance sighed. He didn’t want to resolve to that—especially when he still lacked the skill level it would take—, but he guessed there was no other way. That clone was too much like Shiro, too stubborn and wired on what he believed was  _right_. Approaching the larger man, he took notice how good the man looked on his knees, bound and helpless. Crouching down to the clone’s level, Lance touched his chest. Kuro flinched, mouth opened to let out some form of complaint.

What came out was a long, painful scream as Lance messed around with his quintessence.

Differently from his clone, who could only jumble quintessence, Lance had complete control over his power and what it did to others. He sent waves of pain into the clone’s body, knowing exactly what energy points to hit. Not bothered by the painful wails, Lance moved his hand to the man’s head, trying to avoid getting his fingers tangled in the long hair. Entering minds was something he was still learning to do, but desperate times needed desperate actions. He couldn’t let the clone be a threat to his plans, he didn’t need yet another enemy. Not at that moment. Especially another Shiro.

The clone’s mind was a mess, pain pulsating from end to end. Lance concentrated; he needed to find the memories. Ah, there. Right behind that door. Lance was met with memories upon memories. Shiro’s memories. From his time on the Coliseum, a prisoner being tested on by Haggar. Kuro’s memories, from when Lance had given him a name and an order—“Don’t leave me”—a few weeks prior until the moment that trying— _again_ —to contact Voltron looked like a good idea. He could deal with them later; he had more pressing things to do. Walking further down the memory lane, the human found what he was looking for.

“Ah, so the message actually was made, just not sent… Good, good, it would be a hassle to have Voltron knocking on our doors right now.”

He grabbed the memory and destroyed it in between his hands. Immediately Kuro let another wave of loud cries. Taking his hand away from the man’s sweaty forehead, Lance severed the connection. He got up and walked to the door.

“Time to go see what mother wanted from me.”

Without sparing a single glance to the panting mess on the cold floor of the dark room, Lance walked out of the door and instructed the sentinel to only let him go near the room, long jacket flapping behind him.

* * *

“The problem was dealt with, mother.”

“It was the thing, wasn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“If wasn’t for you, I would destroy it.”

“I know, mother, and I’m very grateful to you for not doing so.” Haggar still looked displeased, so he added. “He’s a very good practice dummy; I just erased one of his memories with success.”

“Oh?”

“It still brings some pain, though…” Then he smirked. “But it could also be my fault for playing with his quintessence as a punishment.”

Haggar laughed that full laugh of a proud mother. She looked younger when she laughed and Lance adored seeing his mother let go of her serious side and show her joy. He felt pride of himself every time the remembered she only did that with him. No one else, just him. He was the only one able to make her do that.

“Come, my boy, I have something for you.”

“Lead the way, mother.” He grinned, linking their arms.

The walk to the laboratory was slow and filled with low conversation. Lance told his mother what exactly happened with the clone, about the message it was trying to send and to who. Then he told her what succeeded in that unused dark room, how he had send an excruciating pain running inside the clone’s body and how he entered his mind. Told her about the memories and how he was able to easily extinguish the problematic memory. Haggar had pride in her smile. He felt his chest swell with warmth by seeing his mother be so proud of him.

“Your training is going tremendously well, my son. But what more to expect from you?”

“You flatter me, mother.”

The first thing he noticed entering the lab were the druids. The tall beings walking around, passing in between the experimentation tables and lab rats. The ones who caught his gaze bowed slightly in respect. Lance avoided looking at the instruments they were using, the mental injuries still too fresh. Haggar guided him to a door at the very back of the room. That was the room she kept all the experiments with cloning. What was his mother planning?

“I have something for you.”

“You’re spoiling me, mother.” She laughed softly, caressing his cheeks with one hand before opening the door.

There was a druid near the computer in the corner. In the middle of the room was a big tube filled with that same blueish glowing liquid. And floating inside the liquid was the last thing Lance expected.

_“Keith?”_

“If you want it to be.”

They entered the room together, the door closing behind them, and approached the tube. Keith—a clone, clearly, but still  _Keith_ —was peacefully sleeping, the heart monitor beeping with each heartbeat. Haggar explained how one of the sentinels back at the last base attacked was able to get DNA samples of the Red Paladin, a bit of blood from a cut no one noticed. It was enough to create one clone, but not enough to create a perfect replica. She had to “program” its personality and some other necessary information. Maybe not a perfect replica, but a perfect lookalike doll. Because of that, it would be less problematic that the Shiro one.

“The only things it is capable of feeling is a strong loyalty, a blind trust and a fierce obedience. All towards you, of course.” Haggar smirked. “But maybe you and your powers can actually make him feel something?”

Lance was speechless for a few seconds, absorbing all the information his mother just threw at him. His very own Keith. A Keith that would follow him to the end of the universe and back. And  _beyond_. He smiled excitedly to the woman by his side.

“And when will he be ready?”

“It is already ready, that’s why we are here.”

With her hand, she gave the druid the signal to drain the liquid and open the tube. Soon a naked body was falling into Lance’s arms, the boy hugging it tenderly. Its head resting gingerly on his chest, its breath warm against his blue turtleneck.

“What should I call him? Kuro was easy, but I have no idea what to call this one.”

“How about a galra name? Yorak?”

“Yorak…” He tested the name in his tongue. The clone seemed to respond to it, turning his head up to stare directly at Lance. His eyes were incredibly purple as the original’s, but had that yellowish tint near the pupils. “Hello, Yorak.”

“My emperor…”

An amused glint showed itself on Lance’s eyes as he stared at his mother, the same glint in her eyes. God, he loved that woman. Pressing a quick kiss on her cheek, he lifted Yorak in his arms and carried him to his room, letting his mother know he was going to play a bit with his new pet. He had a half mind to cover the body in his arms with his jacket, he could not let anyone see his new treasure, now could he?

* * *

“Quiznack, I didn’t expect you to look so good sprawled on my bed.”

Lance marveled at the vision of Keith— _Yorak_ —laying on his bed without a care in the world. Black hair messy and violet eyes focused solely on him. He was still naked—the Cuban’s jacket thrown somewhere on the floor—, and Lance had no intentions of changing that so soon. No, instead he took off the long-sleeved turtleneck—skintight and dark blue—, keeping only the black pants. He did so slowly; the boy on his bed wasn’t going to run unless the order was given. After taking off his shoes, Lance crawled over the clone’s body, relishing the warmth it provided. Legs each side of Yorak’s hips, hands firmly planted on each side of Yorak’s head, supporting the ex-paladin’s weight.

“Yorak…” Lance whispered and the clone blinked. “I’ll use my powers on you.”

“Yes, my emperor.”

“I’ll play with your emotions.”

“Yes, my emperor.”

“I’ll mess with your head.”

“Yes, my emperor.”

Lance could feel the shivers running down his spine thanks to the other’s compliance. He touched one of the clone’s cheeks, caressing it tenderly, almost lovingly. The pale skin was soft and flushed, looking ready to be bitten. Yorak’s breath fanned his face. Staring long and hard at the violet eyes, Lance searched for any hesitation, any worry, any signal of rejection. He found nothing, only the calm obedience, and the serene trust.

Would Lance be taking advantage of Yorak if he couldn’t do anything but obey? Was it truly consensual if one of them wasn’t able to deny the other? Was it wrong of him to take that boy for himself that way?

The bigger part of his brain told him that yes,  _it was wrong._

“I’ll give you the freewill to choose, Yorak, I’ll give you the chance to deny me in the future.”

“Yes, my emperor.”

Lance closed his eyes, connecting his quintessence with Yorak’s. He could feel the boy whimper and fidget; he wasn’t able to make the process painless yet. He tried to control the level of pain by sending a wave of calmness. In a few ticks, he found himself inside the other’s mind. It was lighter than Kuro’s and emptier too. He took a few steps, trying to control the flow of the energy so it wouldn’t be so painful for his pet. It was easier to maintain his power levels, probably because Keith’s clone—ironically—did not offer any resistance, differently from Shiro’s clone. If anything, his mind seemed to engulf Lance’s and cling to it, like a child greedily hugging a plushy.

Alas, Haggar wasn’t as good as she thought; the clone was very much able to feel many things. Just in a weaker intensity.

It was ok, Lance understood. Everyone made mistakes.

And, besides, that made everything  _easier_.

Lance watched the string of emotions float around him. Different minds took different forms, textures and tastes, Kuro’s looked a lot like the Castle of Lions, Lance’s clone’s was too cold and dark—he suspected it was  _that_ planet—and Yorak’s looked like what Lance thought an Astral Plane or a mindscape would look like. A vastness filled of white. Thoughts, memories, feelings and personality traits floated around, some linked by thin strings. It wasn’t warm, but it wasn’t cold.

Gingerly touching one of the memories—seeing himself from Yorak’s eyes was quite the experience—, he almost missed the sudden jerk of the clone’s body. Lance finally gave the feelings some attention when one shined brighter than the rest.

“Pleasure?”

Pleasure.

Pleasure was what Yorak was feeling, what Lance mistook for pain. Unconsciously the Cuban avoided the pain by sending pleasure in its place.

“It seems I either provoke extreme pain or extreme pleasure… Definitely need to learn how to control this…” Lance mumbled, watching the feeling pulsate, feeling the body under him squirm. “Ugh, I can’t  _not_  look at this.”

Leaving the clone’s mind, Lance opened his eyes in time to see Yorak close his mouth, as if trying to swallow the sounds that certainly wanted to leave him. Concentrating, Lance send another wave of energy—the same energy he was using while on Yorak’s mind—through his hands—that had moved to hold the black-haired boy’s waist—and the reaction was instantaneous. The boy jolted, eyes tightly closed, lips parting to let a long, strangled moan, back arching, hard member poking Lance’s belly.

“Now that’s a view.”

“M… My emperor…”

“You want more, pet?” The other nodded shamelessly, eager to feel that once more. “Tell me, pet. Tell me who’s pleasuring you?”

Another wave, another moan.

“You! My emperor!”

“And who do you belong to?”

Another wave, a choked scream.

“You, m-my emperor!”

“And who’s the only one allowed to do this to you?”

Another wave, a broken sob.

“Only you, my emperor…!”

“Scream for me, pet.”

And he did. With a stronger wave of pure, unaltered pleasure, Yorak was turned into a screaming mess. Arms clutching Lance’s shoulders, head thrown back and opened mouth. He looked delicious with tears gathering on his eyes. His hips were desperately trying to get some friction, jerking irregularly in hopes of relief.

“No, pet, you’ll come without me touching you.”

Yorak came with a scream that probably would prevent him from talking for some time, with painting him and Lance. His eyes rolled back, mouth hanging out of his mouth, droll and tears mixing in the bedsheets. A few seconds of blissed out rigidness and he fell limp in the bed.

“Passed out… It seems I overdid it a bit.”

* * *

Yorak was still peacefully sleeping on Lance’s bed when said boy came back with an also sleeping Kuro in his arms. Lance did a quick work of putting the bigger man on the bed in the corner of his spacious room and taking off the cuffs. He gently massaged the red skin of Kuro’s wrists, like a silent request for forgiveness. With a sigh, Lance shackled his leg to the bed leg.

Once he was sure Kuro was comfortable, Lance turned to his much larger bed, where a now awake, but sleepy Yorak watched him silently.

“Hello, doll.”

A blush coated the clone’s cheeks. He looked extremely cute in one of Lance’s blue turtlenecks, sitting in the middle of blood red sheets and white pillows. Lance didn’t particularly like the sheets, but he needed to change them after his experiments with the other. Sleeping in a sticky bed is never a good idea.

Sleeping sticky in any way is never a good idea.

According to Lance.

“Sorry I had to leave you, doll… How about a bath? We both need one after what was done.”

Yorak nodded, the coding of his mind translating the words as orders. The human sighed; it would have to be enough for the time.  _Soon_ , he promised himself, soon Yorak will be agreeing with him at his own accord. While that didn’t happen, he would satisfy himself with provoking the feelings and personal traits inside his pretty dolls mind and making him squirm in pleasure.

“I’ll prepare the bath.”

He turned to go to his bathroom, not noticing the glare Yorak send Kuro.

* * *

Kuro let a few grunts escape his throat before opening his eyes. He had a vague memory of a burning pain running through his veins and a soothing humming luring him to sleep. Groaning, he sat up. His hazy mind took a second to understand his hands weren’t cuffed together anymore, but one of his legs was shackled to the bed’s leg. His mind took another second to notice he was back at Haggar’s son’s room. Speaking of him…

“I was starting to get worried.”

Kuro looked at the biggest bed in the room where Lance was sitting with a longhaired Keith on his lap, dressed in Lance’s clothes.

“Keith?”

“Not quite. His name is Yorak, mother just gave him to me.”

Kuro snorted. He was about to make a snide remark about Haggar when Keith turned around and glared at him. Violet eyes filled with contempt. Keith snuggled more on Lance’s body, arms tightly wrapped around his neck. Lance chuckled.

“He doesn’t appreciate people trying to be mean to me.” The boy smirked, letting his long fingers caress the bare skin of the clone in his lap. “How are you feeling?”

“What happened?”

“You don’t remember?” Lance stared at him for some long seconds, searching for something. “You tried to attack me and I used my powers on you without meaning to.” Lance sighed. “Sorry about that, by the way, but it was a reflex and you attacked first.”

Conversation died. Lance started humming while playing with Yorak’s hair. Kuro eventually laid down and let the soft lullabies bring sleep back to him. His head throbbed. He had that nagging feeling of having forgotten something.

Something important.


	4. Not Lance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ROLE PLAY BLOG](https://officialthirdplayerlance.tumblr.com/)

For a lone wolf, Keith hated loneliness. With a passion.

He learned how to deal with it, yes, he spent quite a long time in exile that he forced himself into. Didn’t mean he had to like it.

News flash: He  _didn’t._

Not one bit.

News flash: He also had no idea how to solve that.

Childhood? He had no idea how to be social.

Teenager years? He had no idea how to be social.

There was a time he truly believed he would have no idea how to be social in adulthood too.

And he had been okay with that. He was fine with being, as Adam used to say, a “social-weirdo”. He could deal with the loneliness. He had Shiro and Shiro’s weird ass friend and Shiro’s cool fiancée. Keith could deal with it all. He was fine, truly.

Then a boy with blue eyes, loud voice and louder personality appeared. And suddenly Keith  _wanted_  to be social.

Only with the boy, but still.

_Keith wanted to be social._

_(Let that sink in.)_

Adam had laughed enough for an entire year the day Keith told him that.

The he gave Keith the very helpful advice of “Take your time, but don’t wait too much. I know that boy; he won’t disregard someone trying to be friendly”, which Keith was glad because he really didn’t want to hear the “just tell him” bullshit he was sure he would’ve gotten with Shiro… Or Shiro’s weird ass friend.

Keith could take his time just fine. The problem was the “not too much” part.

The problem was the glow the blue-eyed boy emitted.

The problem was the shine of his bluest blue eyes.

The problem was the brightness of his smile.

The boy was made of light.

And Keith was a “shadow gremlin”, as Shiro’s weird ass friend used to call him.

Light made him run.

And run he did.

Until they met again. Until the boy—Lance, his name was Lance—shone brightly in front of him once more. And he brought with him the chance of belonging.

Belonging somewhere.

Having a family to call his.

And Keith would be forever grateful for that, no matter how much he would deny if someone asked. He would be forever grateful for Lance.

Falling in love with Lance only made that feeling ten times stronger.

If before he wanted to be social, after he fell—hard, I might add—, he wanted to be a constant in Lance’s life.

And, yes, that maybe sounded a tad creepy, but he couldn’t help himself.

He wanted to be part of Lance’s life just as much as he wanted Lance to be part of his life.

Then Adam’s advice came to bit his butt. “Take your time, but not too much”. He took too long, go figure, and when he was finally ready to confess to Lance those feelings of his, Lance was taken away.

Now, Keith wasn’t a religious person.

_(If God existed, Keith wasn’t sure They liked him very much, and the feeling was mutual.)_

But if that was how Hell felt like, he could understand why people ran from it their entire lives.

That was something he wished to no one… Other than Haggar. And Zarkon too, but mostly Haggar.

When they found Lance, he was happy, more than happy, he was ecstatic!

Except something screamed at him, something deep within him. And it was screaming “wrong, wrong, wrong” at max volume.

And that something didn’t stop, no, it stayed and it screamed and he was going crazy. It seemed to have a particular dislike for Lance, which was weird… Unless something really was wrong with Lance, which wasn’t the case for Lance had been acting like himself. Sometimes he got that pained look in his eyes, talked aloud with himself, or would lose himself inside his mind for hours to no end, but, hey,  _you_  try to survive being kidnapped and experimented on by Haggar and come back without at least some weird mannerisms.

Thankfully, and maybe a bit creepily, Coran noticed how bothered Keith was.

Coran had been acting weirdly around Lance. Still treated him with kindness, but he seemed to keep some distance. It was very, very odd, as Coran saw Lance as his son—there was a debate if Coran saw every one of them as his children and, in Keith’s opinion, Coran saw them more as nieces and nephews than his own kids like he did with Lance and Allura—and would usually be the first to jump in an opportunity to get Lance alone so they could clean the Castle—again—and talk. After they rescued Lance, Coran was hesitant in approaching the boy. And the oddest part is that Lance looked alright with it?

Like he expected and respected Coran’s uneasiness?

Nonetheless, Coran gave Keith help in the form of a book. A book about Galra biology.

Keith had the feeling the man was trying to tell him something.

News flesh: He was right.

Coran gave him a book with a marked page. A marked page about senses and mating.

To say Keith took some time to muster enough courage to read that page is an understatement.

_(You can’t just give a book like that to a disaster child, Coran, the quiznack?)_

Keith would never admit it, but the book was of great help. Closing it, the Red Paladin sighed. Thinking back to everything that happened, Coran’s question after they told him how they rescued Lance.

_“Is that so?” The uneasiness in the man’s voice was subtle, but there. Coran was staring at the Blue Paladin sandwiched between Pidge and Hunk with a faraway look in his face, one hand nervously fidgeting with his mustache._

Keith left the book on his bed, finally understanding that subtlety was not his forte and if he wanted some answers, he would have to ask. With determined steps, he left his room, doing a beeline to Lance’s room. Pieces of the book echoing inside his mind.

_“Once a Galra finds a suitable mate, they will develop a sensitivity towards said mate. Their senses will attune with the mate, so the Galra can provide the chosen one with whatever is needed. While it is more common for that to happen to only one or two of their senses, it is not impossible for all five of them to suffer the change. Some Galra have reported some sort of sixth sense, the ability of feeling the energy of their mate, but it’s unclear if it’s something on its own or a result of the mating bond, as it is a mental connection.”_

He didn’t need to be a Pidge to understand what that meant. He had recognized Lance as a suitable mate—another thing he wouldn’t admit any time soon—and his senses had attuned with Lance. All five of them, by what he could understand. That said, for his senses to respond to Lance that way, he could think of only two possibilities. One was that there was something very wrong with Lance, wrong enough to bother Keith’s senses and distance Coran. The other was… That Lance, the Lance they had with them, wasn’t their Lance.

Keith didn’t knew which one was scarier. Each brought their own set of problems and their own headache.

With a deep intake of air, Keith knocked on the Blue Paladin’s door.

“Come in.”

Time for the truth.

“Keith?”

“Who are you and where is Lance?”

Okay, maybe he could’ve said something—anything—else, preferably something that didn’t make him sound like a suspicious lunatic, but Keith was well aware of his non-existent people skills, as discussed before. Usually he would let Lance do the talking, seeing as the Cuban boy could easily control a conversation and had a better understanding of people, emotions and social cues.

Anyways, Keith already expected Lance to react strongly to his curiosity, even more after how he worded it, but he didn’t expect for the boy to sigh silently and close his eyes.

Wait, did it mean he was right and that boy wasn’t his Lance?

“Galra senses, he did alert me about them.” Lance looked at him with hollow eyes. “Shit down, Keith—”he gestured to the bed he’d been sitting on even before the Red Paladin came in—“I’ll explain everything.”

* * *

“So, you’re a clone made by Haggar from Lance’s hand that she cut off?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re connected to him because of that?”

“Somewhat.”

“Lance is with Haggar, who thinks he’s her son and is training him to be a weapon for the Empire?”

“Yes, well. She used the whole “son” thing to make Lance loyal to her, but by what he told me, she’s being swallowed by her own lie.”

“He’s planning on bringing the Empire down from the inside by gaining Haggar’s loyalty, killing Zarkon and taking his place so there won’t be a lack of power that could bring someone just as bad?”

“Yes.”

“And he told you to stay here with us?”

“Yes. I was supposed to be programmed by Haggar to destroy Voltron, but the danger of making a perfect clone is that it will act the way the original would.”

“You’re not acting like Lance.”

“I am not Lance.”

Silence, heavy and deafening.

“I will understand if you feel the need to beat me, Keith. In fact, please, go ahead.”

Keith choked on the air going to his lungs. How could that boy—that thing ask that?! Didn’t it have instincts or something? Was it out of its mind?

“It’s hard, you know. Because I’m not him, and you guys love me as if I was and I want the love, I truly do, but… But I’m not him. I want the be loved for me. I want the laughs and the smiles and the affection to be directed at me, not at Lance.”

Tears were running on its cheeks. Keith’s heart clenched. No matter what it was, that face was still Lance’s and wasn’t suited for anything that wasn’t satisfaction and happiness. Don’t get him wrong, it was still beautiful with the trails left by the salty water and the dark blue of bluest blue, but it didn’t feel right. It didn’t feel right.

It wasn’t right.

“But Lance promised me, he promised me I would be free to be. To be whoever and whatever I wanted. And I’ll do anything for that to happen. So please, Keith, please don’t tell them!” Begging, it was begging. “Please, let Lance work his plans! Please let me keep this hope!”

The clone startled when Keith’s fist hit the mattress near it.

Damn it, Keith wanted to punch something.

Getting up hastily, the Red Paladin hurried to leave the room, but stopped at the entrance. If the situation was different, if things were different, he would’ve stayed and dried the tears, hugged the fears, soothed the pain. He would’ve done everything and then some more for his Lance, but that wasn’t his Lance.

“I won’t tell them yet because I trust Lance and his plans.” In and out, slow calming breaths. “But if you do anything that I don’t like, I won’t hesitate to throw you into an airlock.”

“Understood.” Too soft, its—his voice was too soft. Too damn soft.

But it wasn’t his Lance’s voice. It didn’t make his heart go crazy or a whole zoo run a marathon inside his chest.

“You’re not the one I’m going to beat up.”

With that he left, promising himself to punch Lance—his Lance, the real Lance, the one his heart adored—as soon as possible.

And maybe kiss the Cuban while he was at it.


End file.
